


Sweet Midnight Lies

by BadassCompany



Series: The Things We Did (But Never Spoke Of) [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon Compliant, Car Sex, Emotional Sex, Episode: s08e08 Hunteri Heroici, Face-Fucking, Gay Sex, Impala Sex, M/M, Mild Face-Fucking, Oral Sex, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Promises, Sex in the Impala, Sleeping in the Impala, Smut, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, coda fic, destiel smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadassCompany/pseuds/BadassCompany
Summary: "Don't go," Dean managed. Ah, there it was. Not exactly stay, but close enough; the most he could stand to say."I promise," I said. And God, I wanted it to be true. Kissing him, having him in my hands, telling him we were all right: it felt like coming home.It was so easy to make promises you couldn't keep.





	

It was after I got back from Purgatory, and before our first case together. I could sense his distrust, his wariness. This was justified – I had no explanation for how I had returned. But a part of me wished he would overcome that wariness, as well as the boundaries Sam’s presence created between us. I wanted – oh, how I _wanted._  

When I told him that I had chosen to stay in Purgatory, when his guilt for leaving was gone, I think some inner vulnerability awoke instead. Some unspoken _why did you leave me_ that I didn’t know how to answer. 

 

Motel rooms, as it turns out, simply do not come with three beds in them. I told Sam and Dean that I didn’t need to sleep. That I would watch over them. No matter how many times I offer, Dean says no. I don’t know why, misconceived ideas about personal space aside. It’s one of those things we don’t talk about. 

They were clearly distressed about telling me to leave, when I had nowhere else to spend the night. I simply told them I had business to attend to, and was gone in a heartbeat. Barely enough time to see Dean’s expression shift from fake nonchalance into something deeper, something troubled. 

My business turned out to be sitting in the back seat of Dean’s car alone. It felt safe in here, the comforting smell of leather all around me. It was past midnight when I saw Dean slipping out of the hotel room and crossing the car park. “Hey,” he said in a low voice as he slid into the back seat behind me, closing the door with a soft thud behind him. He carried a duffel bag, which clinked conspicuously with his every moment. 

“Hello, Dean.” I answered. I wondered if he would be unhappy with me for sitting in his car without asking. 

“You come here often?” He asked, winking. I could smell the alcohol on his breath even before he opened the duffel bag and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He offered it to me. 

I accepted it, and downed a good portion of it, amber molecules flowing effortlessly over my tongue. I could feel the burn of it at the back of my throat, if not actually taste it. I nodded my appreciation. I answered, “Occasionally. When you ask me to.” He shook his head, and we continued in that silent ritual, passing the bottle back and forth, Dean stealing glances at me and I watching him steadily, until three empty bottles had been tossed in the front seat. My head swam with pleasant inebriation, and Dean was a great deal farther gone. 

Still, he didn’t speak. His eyes roved up me, darting away and then back as if he couldn’t make up his mind. I could feel the heat in his gaze, and slowly, slowly, I leaned closer. His breath caught. I kept my eyes on him the whole time, giving him an easy out if he decided he didn’t want this for whatever godawful reason, but he didn’t look away. 

Our lips brushed, so soft and unhurried that I thought it might break me apart. I drank in the feeling, trying to commit every last detail to memory. This, I thought, was what coming home felt like. His full lips, his pulse shaky under my hand, the tension melting out of his body as I pressed myself to him. His hands came up to grab at me, pulling me closer. His previous reticence had faded away, replaced with frantic lust. 

I pulled away. “Dean,” I choked out. His freckles… Oh, there were so many of them, how would I ever count them all? I intended to tell him to slow down, that I wanted to drag it out, but the words which fell from my lips instead were, “I love you.” 

He considered me briefly for a moment. In a single, albeit rather uncoordinated motion, he swung his leg over mine and pushed us back, so my back was to the leather upholstery and he was on top of me. “Think you could tell me that sometime you’re not insane or drunk?” He said with a soft laugh. I ran a hand through his hair, taking pleasure in the simple, soft texture. I had missed this. 

"Certainly," I promised, and leaned forward to claim his lips. He moaned into the soft kiss, eager for me and so very uninhibited. I clumsily pulled him closer, and clung to him. He was _real_ , and _here_ , and _in my arms._ His thoughts appeared to be much on the same track as mine, for he whispered my name in between kisses and ran his fingertips over my cheeks, as if to remind himself that I wasn't a dream. _Cas. Cas._ We kissed for easily an hour, exploring each other's mouths with leisure we hadn't had for a long time, our tongues dancing between the hot slick of his lips. 

Eventually, he reached up desperately to the buttons of his own shirt, but upon fumbling, his eyes fell on mine and he asked, "Touch me." 

I gulped and undid the buttons of his shirt as best I could. I had been set a task, and all that mattered was revealing his naked body. Giving him what he wanted. When I had undone all the buttons, I ran my hands over his bare skin, and could barely believe that I was allowed to glide my lips along this miracle, to feel his heart beat fast under my touches. "Dean," I breathed, latching onto one of his nipples and sucking hard. He arched his back into my touch, and I smiled around the pink flesh, before circling my tongue over it mercilessly. 

Seemingly realizing our unequal circumstances, he reached up and pushed the trench coat off my shoulders, before ripping my shirt open angrily. I watched buttons scatter on the seats. They were forgotten as soon as his hands were on my overheated skin, drawing circles on my nipples. He was caressing me, a litany of my name falling from his lips, and it was so unlike everything we had done in Purgatory I wanted to cry. I guided his shirt off his shoulders, and set about mapping out the newly revealed skin with my hands. 

He sucked hickeys into my neck, and I rocked up against him in satisfaction. "Yes, Dean, yes," I breathed, the sensation of his hot, wet tongue and teeth against the skin of my neck swallowing my attention. He groaned, and it was then that I realized we were rock hard against each other. I threw my head back, letting him rut against me and moaning loudly. He swore above me, and when I opened my eyes, he was staring at me, eyes fixed and lips parted. "You're really here," he breathed. I set about opening the belt of his jeans before he lifted up his hips and let me push them all the way down to his ankles, where he kicked them off. "You're really with me." Dean fell to his knees then, pinned between the front seat and my legs on the car floor, and I watched as he pulled off my own pants and boxers, not bothering to restrain his moan as my cock flopped up to my belly. 

"Always," I managed as he sunk down between my legs, awestruck eyes fixed on me the whole while. He licked up my length, making sure my dick was slicked with saliva and throbbing for any touch before he took me in his mouth. He couldn't take all of me, but oh, it was glory. I moaned, trying to keep myself from bucking into his mouth. 

He hollowed his cheeks and bobbed up and down slowly, moaning throatily and letting me feel the vibrations. I reached my hand out and tangled my fingers in his dusky brown hair. He stilled and looked up at me, as if waiting. I cocked my head to one side, my breathing labored. He swallowed, the motion massaging the head of my cock, and I let out a small moan. "Dean?" I asked. 

He stared back at me, eyes emerald and unflinching. In the depths of those eyes, I saw a plea disguised as a challenge. 

I curled my fingers tighter, giving myself a better grip, before I experimentally guided him down as far as he could go. 

His eyes said, _More._  

So I let myself thrust into the smooth wetness of his mouth and throat, hips quivering with how sinfully good it felt. He watched as I began to fall apart, mouth hanging open, hands clenching at him, my cock throbbing between his lips. And maybe I had lost control of myself and was thrusting too deeply, choking him and prompting his eyes to water. But when I faltered, slowing to make sure he was all right, he shook his head and dug his nails into my thigh. He wanted me to finish, and the desire to do so was coiled hot, wanting and eager in my gut, the slightest touch threatening to tip me over the edge. So I fucked his mouth, feeling tears trail from his jaw onto my inner thigh, and I gave a broken moan of his name as I orgasmed, my hard cock pulsing cum into his mouth. 

When I was done, he pulled off, leaving my dick a spent, spit-shining mess between my legs. He paused, and then swallowed, eyes dark and focused on me. I watched the muscles of his throat convulse as he swallowed my spend down. I had barely come down from my pleasure haze when he reached up to wipe his tears away. My arm jutted out without a conscious thought, and I caught his wrist and stopped him. I pulled him up off his knees and onto the seat beside me, giving only a single word as my explanation. "Don't." 

He fell on top of me, tangling us inexorably together. He rutted against my thigh, cheeks pink with alcohol and sex. I marveled at how his tears managed to slip between his eyelids even as he squeezed his eyelids shut. "Dean," I whispered. 

"You're here," he gasped, clutching at me. 

"Yes," I said, wrapping a hand around his dick and kissing his neck. 

"Don’t go,” he managed then. Ah, there it was. Not exactly _stay_ , but close enough. The most he could stand to say. Oh, how strange, to have that half-murmured sentiment in the midst of this our unspoken connection. 

"I promise." I looked at him through my eyelashes, and his hips stuttered in their movements. "Duffel bag," he muttered. 

I frowned, craning my neck, and lifted the bag from where it sat on the seat. "Lube," he said then, thrusting against me desperately. I laid a hand on his lower back, and he calmed. I found the desired bottle and flipped the cap open, tossing the bag in the front seat. The smell of artificial cherries filled the car, and Dean laughed. We had never used lube before, I realized. Despite that, it was hardly difficult to put it to use. I gathered him in my arms and laid him down on the seat, having long since established that he liked it when I took control. He whimpered as I spread his legs apart as best I could in the confined space, and tilted his hips so his hole was exposed. 

I slicked a finger up with lube and rubbed it tantalizingly along his perineum. He bit down on his lip, stifling his curses. "Dean," I said in a low voice. I pushed the finger inside him, centimeter by centimeter. "It’s all right." _You can call out. We're safe,_ I added silently. Ignoring the fact we were in a motel car park, but curiously, after everything in Purgatory, I didn’t much care. A certain tension went out of his shoulders when I reminded him, and he tried to blink his tears away. They only clung to his eyelids. "You can cry," I said softly. As I worked through second finger in - slow, so deliciously slow - I said again, "I love you." 

He opened his mouth to say something, but only a gasp came. Instead of whatever the intended words were, more tears flooded out. I watched them come, and in a way, I was glad. The dams were flooding.

He bucked his hips up against me. "Fuck, you know that's enough."

We had done with a lot less prep in Purgatory. And yes, this was enough, if I wanted him to grit his teeth and claw at me while I slid home. No. I didn't want to hurt him, no matter how rough he liked it or what we'd had to do before. "Not tonight," I said simply, and drizzled more lube onto his pink hole. He moaned. I added another finger and curled them inside him at once, watching as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Beautiful," I murmured. 

"Damnit, don't-" He gritted his teeth and set his jaw, admonishing me for my words. I picked that moment to happen upon his prostate, brushing my fingertips over it teasingly. His jaw went slack.

"Beautiful," I said again. The muscles in his shoulders tensed, and I sighed. He had always believed words better when they were spoken with my fingertips, my hands, my lips. I fucked my fingers in and out, determined to open him until there was no pain, my cock already thickening again. I trailed kisses along his back, licking circles up his spine. He was begging underneath me, pleading, shaking. Tears ran freely down his cheeks as I circled my other arm under him, holding him to my chest while I fingered him. I wondered if he could feel my heartbeat. 

He gasped as I ran my thumb, wet with lube, over his nipple. By now I had all four fingers firmly inside him, and he was crying out my name. Begging me to touch his dick, to let him come. I kissed his shoulder in an elegant refusal. I could feel myself hardening against his side, and I wanted to be inside him when he came. I turned his chin towards me at a somewhat awkward angle and began kissing his tears away. 

If I had to break him apart to rebuild him, to make us both whole, then so be it. This was the only way I knew to show him that we were home, safe, that he deserved something good. If I couldn't fix all I had done in heaven, then perhaps I could do at least this. 

"Cas," he whispered raggedly. 

"Dean." I answered faithfully. 

"Please love me," and his eyes went wide after he said it, and the words rushed out so fast that I knew he had meant to say _fuck me_. That didn't matter though. 

And he was such a sight then, body pressed flush to mine, my fingers disappearing inside his slick hole, his freckles standing out and his lips parted in the wake of words he had not meant to say - who was I to refuse him? 

“I do,” I said. I pulled my fingers out, and spread the lube over my cock, hissing at the feeling. He clung to me as I pushed inside him. “So good,” I gasped unevenly. “So fucking good, Dean.” And it was. There was something beyond the mere sensations of push and pull, of hot and wet and fluttering pulses, beyond even the slow build of syrupy sweet pleasure between us; it felt, I thought again, like coming home. Like a promise to stay. 

I buried myself in him, thrusting with abandon and fucking him until he came screaming my name, until I lost myself completely in black waves of ecstasy.

He was staring up at me, moonlight washing over his features, when I finally opened my eyes. I smiled at him, and there it was, my silent promise to do what he had begged of me. To stay. He fell asleep with me still inside him, tangled in my arms. I watched him for hours, until he twitched awake and we parted ways with a single kiss. He crept back into he and Sam’s motel room, and I stayed in the back seat of his car. I could have gone anywhere, but I wanted to stay.

I wanted.

 

It has occurred to me since then that promises seemed a great deal more plausible when made at midnight. It was easier to give yourself over completely to want and lust and need, when their full forms were cloaked in darkness and you could see only the outlines. It was so easy to promise myself that the broken shards of myself could be collected together again and made whole in him. So easy. And so sweet.


End file.
